Art of Suicide
by soratanaka
Summary: SSHP, cliché: There is something new about Harry Potter. First, one would believe it was the death of Cedric Diggory. In further observation, Snape is shocked what he sees and what's become of Harry. Slight abuse, detailed non-con in first chapter.
1. Chapter I

**[Disclaimer} **The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J. K. Rowling and whomever she might have compact with. Title of the story plus the chapters' titles belong to Emilie Autumn and her songs.

**[Warnings/Triggers} **Story deals with abuse, non-consensual sexual interactions, homoerotic themes and quite extreme mental confusion. Turns non-canon after book four, though glimpses from all books might appear. I like being as canon on a character as possible. Don't worry, I won't let dear Harry self-pity himself for too long. **Please take rating seriously** and do not read if you're easily triggered.

**[A/N}**I am not a native English speaker, but I take after British.

**EDIT 12/3 2012:** I am about to revise all the chapters before publishing next. Sorry about the delay, but now that I finally write in Word Document - and also having read the junk - I urge to re-write due to grammar and spelling errors and also various confusions.

**{Art of Suicide}  
Chapter I:** _You think this torment is romantic_

Hands all over body; invading my skin in such cruel way. Never will I endure this! Never, do you hear me? Can you feel my disgust?

Your hands unclothe me and the coldness - oh, where's the summer heat when I need it? - hit me and surrounds my body. Goose-bumps appear on my arms; my skin. I shiver. I think I struggle too.

No more hands! No more hands, please! But the hands still remain, sliding and exploring my naked skin. Why? Why do you do this? _No!_

You do not listen. You are cruel and demanding. I cannot scream, I can barely breathe. But do I want to breathe? Do I want to breathe the air you are breathing?

The wet, passionless kisses over my skin; placed on my dry, bitten lips; placed on my neck and down my spine. Are you eager to hear my muffled screams?

_Please, rescue me someone, rescue me from the nightmare I live in. Please.  
_  
Someone tries to scream, and I believe it is me. The neighborhood remains unwittingly arrogant about me. Or do they know, but think I deserve it? How can I know, when they are in the belief I am a criminal?

Perhaps I do deserve this. Perhaps I really do. Your whispering voice in my ear whisper words so unknown, though yet so familiar. So close to what my uncle uses to say.

Perhaps I am a freak, as uncle says. But you say I am a beautiful little boy. You say I am a slut. Am I a slut? Hermione, Ron, you should know. Do I really deserve this?

You enter me. You enter me and steal what is mine to give.

No! Please, do not do this. Don't! _No!  
_  
The pain. The pain is so indescribable. But I do not know for sure if it is the physical pain, the emotional pain or your enjoyment what hurts most.

How much is the clock? I need to go back home now, please. Please! I need a few hours sleep - dreamless hopefully - and then I need to make breakfast for aunt and uncle and cousin. Will you let me go, please?

Your cruel, toothy smile flashes in front of my eyes. It is cloudy outside and I cannot decide whether your hair is dark or light; thick or thin. I want to draw my hand through your hair and between my fingers, but at the same time I don't. Why do you confuse me so much?

Then you bend my lips apart; you open my mouth in a way a dentist would do. But further and further and Merlin, it hurts. I can open my mouth myself if you want?

I cannot breathe. The boxers you put in my mouth forces me to lose my breathing technique. Are you not done yet?

Of course you are. You groan in pleasure; you moan and you hiss. Does it feel good for you, to see someone in complete submission? I can blow you away. I know I can.

I can't. I cannot figure out how. Am I a wizard if I cannot figure out how to use my magic in defence? I believe I am not a wizard. Perhaps I am normal, then? Just like Uncle Vernon wants me to be. Normal, that is a good thing, correct?

Your seed explodes within me and your panting tells me you have had your fun. I am in no use any longer. Release me now, please?

No? Why not?

You smile at me again. Not a passionate, lovingly smile. You call me a slut, but an obediant suchlike. Thank you, I guess. Thank you very much. Are you done yet?

No? What more do you want? You have already taken my innocence. I cannot offer you anything more.

You order me to shut up. I stop my struggling. I stop my muffled pleas. And you invade my mouth. It tastes... salty. And I believe I have never tasted anything so scary before. I like salty things, but this- this is not salty. And yet it is.

You order me to use my lips, my tounge, but not my teeth. Of course I will not use my teeth. I am a good, obediant slut. See? I slowly lick your salty pre-cum. I slowly taste your erection and you force me to swallow it. People say this is supposed to feel good. Then why do I cry?

I have not cried since I was little. I did not even cry when Cedric died. I think I wanted, but I could not do it. But now, now I cry. I never knew it could feel so good to cry. Uncle always told me not to cry. It was only babies whom cried. Am I a baby now?

Your erection leaves my mouth just before my face is met with your orgasm. I need to cover my face, but all I can do is to shut my eyes, for your hands hold my wrists. Everything is black, and yet I have feelings. It is scary. And it is so cold, yet warm.

Are you done yet? No? What is it you want now?

Your hand seek down my throat, fingers trailing as if hesitant. But I know you aren't. You like to see me like this. Naked outside. In the light in darkness, where everyone can see us, but no one does.

Slowly now, down my chest and stomach. Your lips place a kiss on my navel and you suck on it. Lick it and then you go up to my throat with your tongue. You place a kiss on my Adam's apple, before going down again. This time, your tongue trails beneath my navel and to my-

No! I don't want it! Then why does my body react as if it does? Perhaps I do want it?

You say I want it. Perhaps you are right. I want it, do I not?

Your wet lips swallow my slight erection and instantly blood rushes to extend it even further. I feel ashamed. I don't like it, but yet I do. Why?

I think I cry even more. And at the same time I give the same sounds he gave me. It feels so surreal. I am not supposed to like this, then why do I do it? You ask me if I want release, and I shake my head but I whisper yes. I want it so badly, but I feel so ashamed over my own body. And you slap my face for I am not supposed to talk.

As punishment, my boxers are back in my mouth and it becomes hard to breathe. Your nails dig into my wrists and I think I am bleeding. It is not the first time, though, is it?

You ask me if I want it, if I like it. I shake my head but I have to look at you. You order me to look at you. I open my eyes and I meet those lustfilled blue eyes. _Do I want it? Do I want it? Do I want it?  
_  
Yes. Please, make me get it!

No, don't do this to me!

I want it so badly, please!

I have been so good, please make me feel it.

And you let me. You place a gentle, but not a lovingly kiss on my lips and your hand are working me to orgasm. And then I whimper. I want to scream but I cannot do it. Your eyes are filled with- what? Pride? Joy? More lust?

Are you done yet? No? When will this be over? I need to go back home soon, I have to give Uncle Vernon his eggs.

I have to clean myself? How? No- no, this is so humiliating.

Will you leave me after I have? Do you promise?

My own hands cup my penis and I draw my own seed away. You order to lick my hands, and I do as I am told. I am an obediant slut. I swallow. And I do it, over and over again. I think I cry, and you say I still have your seed on my face.I draw it to my mouth and it is salty both of your seed and my own tears.

Am I done now? Are you happy?

No. You give yourself your own pleasure and place your seed over me again. I don't want this, okay! I never asked for anything of this. Nothing!

You laugh at me, place kisses all over my body and say I am so good. That perhaps you will come back.

You will not come back. I will not allow it. I don't deserve it.

No? I deserve this? Do I?

Are you sure?

Okay.

**{Art of Suicide}**

An old woman, perhaps 64 years old, walks down the street. Her face shows she is happy. Why would she not be happy? She is a grandmother to a new little child that has been brought to the world; has been given a chance to feel happiness through sorrow. So why would she not be happy?

And it is a sunny day. A little bit cloudy, yes, but a sunny and rather warm day. Chilling breezes set through the air, of course, and the trees are whispering secrets for those whom cannot hear but yet understand. It is a sunny day, and this old woman has all reason to be happy. A new grandchild is born, of course she is supposed to be happy.

As she walks down the street her face falls down to a small, wrinkly frown. Her grey, old, wise eyes catch a skincolored heap in the thicket. She purses her lips and let her eyes down the road again, instead. Her mood returns as she thinks about the little child who laughed in her arms. How wonderful that little feeling was.

But then the heap moves ever so slightly. The woman abruptly stops and the frown returns. She turns around and her eyes met those emerald orbs. So beautiful, oh, so beautiful. Or, they would have been, had they been alive.

Her own eyes widens and she walks quickly to the heap. To her dismay, she founds a scrawny little boy. How old was he? Twelve? So small, as though he has gone through starvation his whole life. Oh, poor little boy. Poor, poor, poor little boy! And how was she going to help him? Ah, a gang of younger boys down the street. Perhaps they use this cell phone everyone talks about?

"Excuse me!", she calls their attention. "Could one of you call an ambulance, please?"

They exchange gazes before one of them, fat and ugly he was - Dursley's boy, perhaps? - calls an ambulance, as the old woman tries to cover the boys naked body. Oh, he is so cold, so frozen, and so scared! He freezes on her every touch. He does not even dare to flinch away.

"What's it about, then, Mrs Warner?", the fat boy asks as he walks down the street.

"It's a boy", she explains, "I think he's been ra-"

"Harry!", the boy interrupts and almost drops his phone. The shock and horror struck him. His mouth forms a slight 'o' in the shock. His blue eyes widens, "I-"

"Give me that thing, boy!", the woman demands, and of course gets what she asked. With the phone in her hand and against her ear, she takes over the call. "Hello, I think a boy's been raped here. Near the corner shop on Privet Drive. Yes, please, I think he's been lying outside all night and it wasn't the hottest night in history, now was it? Of course, I'll stay with him. Yes, please, do come soon. He's so afraid, the poor boy..."

She does not notice the little tear the fat, ugly boy loses from his eyes.

**{Art of Suicide}**

Petunia Dursley stared blankly at her son. "What did you say?"

"Mum- I- he-", Dudley trailed off. For once, he was insecure what to say to his mother. He frowned and cleared his throat discreetly. "Harry, he's got ra-raped. I- I had to ca-call an ambulance..."

"My nephew's got _raped_?" She repeated, her eyes flashed dangerously. Dudley felt the urge to back away, but did not do it. Instead, he nodded and made his blonde hair follow the movements as in a dance. "By _whom_?"

"They don't know", Dudley told her. "He was- you know he wasn't here this morning. He- I've heard him sneak out sometimes after nightmares. I- I let him. I overheard what those redheads said to him before he departed from them at the station. They said something about it wasn't his fault that someone died. I- I thought he needed time to grief, you know. And when he wasn't back here, I simply thought he'd forgotten the time. And then I was out with Piers and a few others and-", he took a refreshing breath as his throat suddenly felt swollen, "and this old woman, Warner, told us to call an ambulance. I did it, and I asked her what to say as I walked towards her and- and I saw Harry. Lying there; whimpering, y'know. And he froze at every touch. It was- it was- it just _was_."

"He's at hospital now, correct?" She demanded and started to collect things into her handbag. In Dudley's nod, she started to hurry. "Which one?"

"_Whinging Acute_."

"Will you follow me or stay home until Vernon comes back?"

"I-" Dudley frowned. What would it be like to follow? Would Harry be scared or think he was there to bully him? Surely Harry must have noticed Dudley did not bully anymore, correct? But still, they were not close. Yes, Dudley has given food to his cousin behind the eyes of his father and mother, and Harry knew that. But still, they were not close, right? Harry did not know Dudley's favourite color or his interests. Dudley did not know Harry's favourite hobbies. That was not what family was for, right? Dudley had tried to rebuild his family. He wanted Harry to be a part of them, while he was rather afraid of what Harry might do to him should he say the wrong thing. He had not treated Harry right before, and surely he must be insecure why Dudley was there. His aunt was enough, was it not? "I'll stay and explain to Dad."

"You do that and I'll send him your care, okay sweetheart?"

Dudley smiled. His mother tolerated much. But she did not tolerate mistreatment in forms of abuse or rape. Especially not in her own family, wizard or not. Of course she tried to be as normal she could, but Dudley had made her see some sense. He had told her how unhappy he was of the fact the only frequent visits they got was from Aunt Marge, and she was not even funny. He wanted Harry too, and his mother had accepted that and tried to give her son that. And now she was going to see her nephew and be there for him. This was totally awesome! "Okay."

"I'll buy something to eat on my way home. What do you want? Pizza?"

"Ah, no. I think a baguette with chicken is okay for me and Dad."

Petunia frowned. "Are you sure, Duddikinns?"

"Of course, Mum. Now, hurry up to Harry. I know he wants to have someone there for him, even though he might have it hard to show it. And remember, he'll be suspicious about why we're so nice to him."

Petunia nodded, gave her son a quick kiss on his cheek and hurried out to the car. Vernon had actually started to take the bus for the case if Petunia somehow needed to get somewhere during Vernon's absence. She drove as fast as she could without breaking the law to the hospital.

As she entered the too clean entrance hall, she felt the environment turn sterile and aseptic. She looked around and found it a small, but had much space.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" A light voice spoke.

Petunia spun around to her left side and locked eyes with a buxom woman with rosy cheeks and black hair. She held a friendly smile and Petunia immediately disliked her. Why, she did not know. It was just the feeling she sat there and _smiled_ that bothered her.

"Yes, please", Petunia replied curtly and walked towards the woman, keeping her handbag close to her waist. "I seek for my nephew. He should have come here earlier."

"Ah, yes. Can you give me his name, please?"

"Harry Potter."

"Harry James Potter, born 1980?"

"In the end of July, yes."

"Ah, I see. And you are-?"

"Petunia Dursley; His aunt."

"Of course", the woman said and smiled while she clicked and wrote and did those things people like her does. "If you follow the corridor over there", she pointed behind Petunia, "and walk until you see a red sign, turn to the right corridor until you come to the attendants room. Wait there until Dr Harper fetch you, please."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Why can't I see my nephew immediately?"

The smile became apologetic. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but there is no possibility for you to do just that now. Your nephew is in a rather bad shape and cannot see anyone - this includes you - until he feels a little better. It is Dr Harper who will explain for you what his injuries are and how you can help your nephew. Until then, I am afraid you will have to wait."

"I demand to see my nephew!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but you cannot just yet. You will disturb his healing, I'm afraid. Until then, please do have a candy", she motioned to the bowl beside her. Petunia snorted. "Look, I know this is a hard time for you, but you will have to gain some patience. We do not allow misbehaviour in any kind. Now, the red sign, right corridor and wait in the attendants room. Dr Harper shall fetch you in a few minutes."

It took the doctor seventeen minutes to fetch Petunia, and she her patience had already drained.

"Where's my nephew?" She demanded as soon as he presented himself.

"He's in a room in the end of this corridor. I will firstly tell you his injuries-"

"I want to see my nephew", Petunia hissed angrily and rose from the seat. "He's my family and I have the right to see him."

Dr Harper nodded. "You have right to see him after I have explained his injuries and how you must treat him afterwards."

Petunia sighed, but sat down again.

"Good. You are Ms Dursley, I presume?"

"Mrs Dursley", she corrected and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Of course, I apologize. Now, your nephew, Mr Potter, has been raped. I reckon you know this?"

"Of course I do!"

"There is no need to get angry, Mrs Dursley. Now, your son has a slight concussion and bruises on his wrists and neck, as though someone tried to hold him down and then strangled him." Petunia gasped before her eyes flashed dangerously. "He has been malnourished, either starved or self-starvation.

"We know for sure he has been raped rather brutally as his anus had not been prepared for the insert of another man's erection. There are seed left which we have sent for analysis. If they find the culprit, we shall inform you and prosecute."

Petunia nodded. "Are there anything more I ought to know?"

The man's eyes darkened slightly. "We have found wounds on his back, old as well as new, which are rather disturbing."

"How so?"

"It looks like they have been made by... belt."

Petunia narrowed her eyes. "Belt, you say? Are you sure?"

"As sure as we can be. He also has cuts and bruises over his body as though he has gone through a tournament and torture."

Had not Dumbledore sent her a letter, telling her about some Triwizard Tournament? But torture? "I have barely seen him. He attends a school every year and only comes back during summer."

The man nodded and began to walk. "Follow me if you still wish to see him."

Petunia did not hesitate. Her thoughts ran through her mind. His nephew had been raped. _Raped_! And Vernon, was it he whom was behind the wounds on the boy's back? How could he? Sure, Harry held some kind of abnormality within him, but there were no excuses to abuse a child.

For surely the school did not do such things, did they?

"He doesn't have any... disease now, does he?" Petunia asked quietly as they approached the room where Harry lay in.

The doctor shook his head. "Not as far as we can see now. Which is good."

Petunia nodded. Of course it was good. She did not want her nephew to go through even more pain. When had the boy ever smiled near her, anyway? Not that grateful smile he gave her each time she brought the boy water and bread. No, a smile; a true smile. A happy smile.

When she thought about it, it must have been before he even knew he was neglected. Which was around the first weeks at their house.

Guilt ate her from the insides. _I'm sorry Lily_.

When she first saw Harry, she could barely believe it. It was the same Harry she always saw, but he looked so afraid, so wary and terrified. It almost broke her heart when she saw the dull, haunted eyes that once had been flashing in different emotions.

_I'm so, so, sorry Lily. I'll bring Harry back. I promise, Lily._

"Aunt Petunia?" He asked in a toneless voice. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, Harry", she said as the doctor left them alone. "I know I haven't always been here for you, but I am now. Do you want something?"

"Yes", he whispered. "I want it back. I saw it disappear. I felt it disappear. I want it back. I want it back. Can I have it back, Aunt Petunia?"

She blinked. And then she felt how her heart aalmost broke. It was painful to hear him talking like that. And then know that what he want back, is something he cannot have back.

"Harry", she sighed and reached for his hand. When the boy froze and his eyes widened, she stopped and let the hand fall beside her. She took a seat on the chair beside the bed and looked her nephew in the eyes. "Harry", she started again. "I need to know one thing. Did Vernon ever hurt you?"

The eyes widened, if possible, even more. Then he shook his head violently. "No. Never. Uncle Vernon is good."

"Harry, please, tell me the truth. I need to hear it", she looked at the boy with eyes filled of sorrow. She already knew the answer. Vernon had used the belt on the boy. And she had never known. How could something like that have passed her? "Please."

The boy's shakings became to noddings. "Yes. Always. He's evil. Always. Never. I don't know. All the time. Almost never. Long time. Short time. Cold and alone. I want it back. It's not fair. I'm sorry Cedric."

Petunia shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm here for you now, though. Okay?"

Harry did not seem to hear. His body shook. "Evil, evil, it lurks everywhere. You killed the spare! He's mine! Mine! And you took it. You took it from me. I was supposed to give it to him. Cedric, where are you? Where are you, Cedric? Please, Cedric, I'm so sorry. Give me another chance! Another chance, I promise I will be good. I promise. You took it, you are evil! I deserved it. Okay, okay, okay. I will not burn your eggs today, Uncle Vernon."


	2. Chapter II

**[A/N}** _I was not prepared to get loads of mails from . Imagine my shock, to check my mail and see mail from fanfiction, unread, and totally foreign for me. It was my friend that uploaded this story without my knowledge. I think she was tired of me never finish a story, and now found a way to make me finish what I've started. Very well._

**Thank you for reviews**_, it helped me stop shaking from my shock. After first giving me it, that is. Please do not feel offended when I do not answer. If I feel something is in particular need to answer, I will see that it is. However, if you have any questions, do let me know._

I did not intend to give the rapist a big role, as such things do happen and it can be just a random, desperate person on the street. However, after some thoughts, I got this little witty idea and intend to fulfill it. I do think it will be some eyebrows to the hairline, though. However, this person will not be introduced before later when Harry is back to the school, which I still am rather unsure whether he should attend it after this occurrence.

**Disclaimers** _and _**warnings** _are on my profile.. I believe. I do _**not **_encourage rape, abuse, self-harm or violence in any kind. Do not expect me to say this in each chapter. _**I rated this as "M" for a reason**_._  
_Do inform me if I have some particular repeating grammar error, so that I can see it will not repeat further on. I speak Swedish usually. I learned to read English rather fluently just during this summer. I have read books in English before, but during this summer I read a whole lots of fanfictions._

_I have made this chapter more informing rather than angsty, as it needs to grow on this. Feel free to criticize me and help me improve my writing technique. Now, I usually skip this part of chit-chat, and I believe most of you also did it. If you read it all, you have my heart. Not literally, since should that ever happen, I would be rather dead. Not that I complain death, I just like living._

**Art of Suicide**  
**Chapter II:** _Snowstorm Burning_

"_Vernon Reginald Dursley_!"

The front door slammed shut and in strode a very fuming Petunia. She quickly gave the wished baguette to her son and asked him to stay on his room until she was done with her husband, whom, apparently, had waited for food all in vain.

When she heard the door to Dudley's room shut, she slammed her fist on the dinner table with such force she almost surprised herself. Oh, she was not angry. She was furious. Her fury made her shake in a manner Vernon had never seen before. And it scared him to no end, since he knew he had married a dangerous woman. She only went to this stage of anger when something was wrong; terribly wrong. And in this case, Vernon could swear he was the error.

"He was and still is a kid. A kid! Do you know- can you imagine- Dr Harper's gaze at me. I have never felt such humiliation before. And the boy- I- you- you _disgust_ me to no end, Vernon."

Vernon stared at his stuttering wife. He knew he in some kind of way was doomed. Never before had she spoken to him that way and never before had she stuttered with anger. True fury made her stutter, and it was a quite terrifying experience.

He licked his lips nervously. "Now, Tunes, I see we have a little misconception here-"

"A little _misconception_? A little tiny, obscure, trivial misconception?", she demanded through clenched teeth. "Did he scream for you to stop it, Vernon? Did he beg you with wet cheeks? Trust me, Vernon, I tolerate much, but this is enough. Wizard or not, magical or not, you will _never_ touch Harry James Potter again. Have I made myself clear?"

Vernon almost choked by hearing the _forbidden words_, especially from his own wife. The words were forbidden for the simple reason to never remind Petunia of the little _inconvenience_ in her family. And now his wife stood there and uttered them herself. Had the boy brainwashed her?

"I have no idea what you're-"

"Don't - give me - that - _shit_", Petunia hissed. "No excuses, Vernon. I saw the bruises. I saw his mental state. You hurt him without me knowing! I said clear to the starvation as punishment, for I was blind by hatered when seeing Lily's eyes. I said clear to chores since someone had to do them and he seemed to enjoy it. And that was better for him than lying and do nothing. But to use the _belt_ upon a _child_, Vernon. That disgusts me. Never again will I allow it within these walls. _Do you hear me_?"

"I never-"

"Get out, Vernon. Pack your things and leave. I don't want to be married with a- a- a _monster like you_. I thought you held some kind of common sense, but apparently I was wrong. Obviously, Lily was right when she said you were not to be trusted."

"It is-"

"Not your house", Petunia stated with flashing eyes. "It's my house. You will leave and I will have a divorce. Be glad I've not gone to the police. Whether Harry finds it congenial or not, time will tell.

"Look, Vernon", she started all over with a sigh by seeing her husband's refusal. "I can't find myself married to someone who has abused a child; let alone one within these walls. It's as bad as to abuse anyone else, but Harry's still family. I can't see a future to wake up in the same bed with you, and know your crimes. Either you leave, or I will and then I'll have to go to Dumbledore for protection, and that's final."

Vernon gave her one look, and it was neither hurt or sorrow; regret or remorse. It was fury, and Petunia was wise enough to understand that there never had been pure love between them. Just the need to have something to call family. And then he just walked out the door, slamming it shut. The sound was followed by another slam from the car, and she could hear the car drive away. Probably, the man was going to have a drink or two, come back just to pack his bag and then finally leave.

It would be empty in the house, and she knew it. They would have to deal with weeks-with-Dudley - in which Petunia would allow Vernon as little time as possible - and the money. She would have to get a suitable job somewhere and possibly a car, since it was Vernon's they had on the drive. And she knew Dudley would be disappointed with the fact his hopes to have a whole family now would break.

But perhaps there was a slight hope they, Petunia and Dudley, could invite Harry's second family and friends within the Magical World? Both of them would find it scary, of course, to have strangers - and magical suchlike - within the walls where once it would have been called sin by her and Vernon. Still it would hopefully help Harry recover.

A twing of discomfort attacked her chest. Would Harry recover? And what would he recover to? A scary, lonely boy, or a too soon grown up man without something to laugh at? She knew he wanted the boy to laugh and she wanted to see happiness in the hollow eyes. Lily's eyes.

It made her squirm to see her sister's eyes like that. Harry had always held emotions flashing like Lily herself, and Petunia was used to see those emotions, even though it had been so long ago. But now those emotions were replaced by something so lifesucking and souleating it ate the boy from the very inside out.

And she wanted to take the rule as _aunt_ for once and act accordingly.

So how was she supposed to act, then? She had no idea how to contact Dumbledore, except with an owl, and she was rather afraid of owls. Though the boy's owl, that white beautiful one, seemed friendly and wise enough not to attack a human without warning - or good reasons behind.

She was rather sure, though, that she could not call Dumbledore. Did they even have phones, those wizards? She thought not, since they used owls. But she had no owl, the boy had left the white one with the redheaded family; where a few members were rather familiar from last summer's event.

She sighed, took a seat beside the table and rested her chin on her palms. How would any other aunt act? Send the boy to some kind of psychiatric ward? Would that not be dangerous? According to the last letter she had received from Dumbledore, the man - monster, madman, powerseeking fool, serial killer - who killed Lily and James Potter had resurrected before the holiday and Harry was thus in even more danger than before. The protection that was held over the wards were, apparently, strong enough to hold the man outside, according to Dumbledore's _hopes_.

The boy had been in fight with that madman since the first year at that school. In some way or another. He had been through so much, so why not give it a break?

But he needed his friends and she knew it. So how to proceed? Hold the boy to stay here until someone comes for him and then explain the situation? Surely they would seek for him here after the school began. And surely he was in no state to attend that school just yet.

"Oh God", she gasped and shut her eyes. "Lily, what am I supposed to do if he turns suicidal?"

**{Art of Suicide}**

Here I am again. In the place where no one can find me, or even bothers to try. It is the place where you go when nothing else seems safe. But I know that - even though this place is inside my head - it is not safe here. Not because of the fact I have a deranged, perturbed and mad Dark Wizard that access my memories and my actions. Really, I do not really bother that fact, as one grows - well not particulary _used_ to the pain in the scar and the confusion, the terrified feeling you get when waking up after hearing pained screams of torture. One with a sane mind would probably never get used to that. However, it was the fact that here it is my feelings that are in control. I cannot hide when I am here, and that is what bothers me most.

There are not much in here. It is not white as it was before. It is simply dark. But not as dark as it could have been. Not the darkness where you cannot see the hand in front of you. It is as though the air has its light, but a fog of darkness holds it down.

Darkness is scary, but still it isn't. It is not the darkness where the fear lies, but the things hidden within it. Is that true? It seems not, since the darkness itself devours one's skin so tenderly and mercilessly. The darkness reminds me of the days in the cupboard with the ruthless smell of food, reeking through the door's crannies. And yet I was safe there without the belt.

But this is not the same darkness. There are no smells invading my hunger. There are neither heat nor gelidity to crawl over my skin so carefully slowly it hurts like seven hells together. I doubt there are even feelings here. Perhaps I am wrong - are there feelings in here? - but I feel so empty.

Can anyone describe it for me; this emptiness? Is it where you go when everything else hurts so much you feel like there are inner monsters, parasites, eating you from your soul to your organs, to your bones and to your skin?

Oh, look! I see Cedric's face over there, and my heart skips a beat. He smiles at me and waves his hand like he did once during the Yule Ball, to call my attention. We had different dates, of course; He had Cho Chang and I had Parvati Patil, but we danced together from time to time - though it was a problem since we both had learned to dance the male-side, and we talked to one another and just were. And that was what we were; a couple. We were. _And we were a couple_.

Cedric is alive. I can reach for him, but then I realize I have no arms. Where did my arms go?

He smiles at me and encourage me to approach him on the way. He seems so far away but yet so close, and I try to reach but I can't find my arms. I cannot find them and it frustrates me to no end. I want to reach out, I want to stroke his cheek and then place a light kiss on his lips. I want to tell how sorry I am for how things turned out. And I want to explain how much it hurts when he is not here. I want to explain how the nights seem so long when I lie curled upon the bed with my knees drawn to my cheek and the aching pain in my chest.

I killed him. I forced him to take the Cup with me, and even though I could not have known it was a Portkey, I killed him. I did not jump in front of the curse, I did not do anything. Simply... watched. And then screamed when Cedric did not answer my undying pleas.

I do not even cry when his face turns grim and then lifeless. I do not even cry when his body is hit by a green light so equal to my own eyes. I just try to reach out, but I still have no arms.

I try to move then. I try to move my legs, my body and I try to run to my once again dead boyfriend but I find myself drawn backwards through time and space. The memories are playing on each of my sides, as a slideshow but so fast. And yet I can clarify the faces and memories that are passing by me. There Hermione is, lecturing me about homework and there Ron asks me to play a game of chess with the huge, happy grin on his face. All my happy moments are flashing by, while the words are echoing in my ears. I try to cover them, my ears, but I have no arms and thus no hands to cover them with.

_Kill the spare._

You want it! You want it! You want it!

And then the hands are covering me. They are all over my body, and Cedric shouts at me. He has never shouted at me before, but now he stands over there, alive yet again, and he shouts at me. I am so unfaithful, I never was a true boyfriend. _See_; I allow these hands on my body. The very body I was to give Cedric when we both were ready for it. And we were preparing for it. It was going to happen so soon. We were going to explore one another even further, just so soon. But apparently, it was not soon enough.

The hands trail down my spine and I turn around but I have nothing to turn around with. Yet, I can feel the way the fingers are invading the spots I have never allowed to anyone. I own no body, but yet I can feel it.

It is there, but it is not.

It is cold but it is hot.

And I know, I know I am burning up; it is my turn, but as I struggle I realize I have nothing left to burn.

**{Art of Suicide}**

"Dudley, I have something to-"

"I know you and Dad are gonna divorce."

Petunia stopped in the doorway to her son's room and frowned. Dudley showed no emotions and she did not know how to proceed from there. Would Dudley hate her for her choice? Would he be indifferent or sad? At least, she thought, he did not have to hear them fight every day for this.

"Yes, we are", she confirmed eventually and took place on her son's bed, just beside her own son. "Do you know why?" When Dudley shook his head - he had not heard why as his parents' voices had talked lower at times - Petunia placed her arm around his shoulders. "Vernon abused Harry, and I won't accept the fact he'd be here when Harry needs recovering."

She could feel the slight shock from her son and she hugged him gently with one arm. How would one react when told that his - or her - father has abused someone? Fortunately, Dudley calmed himself soon enough and looked at her with his blue eyes.

"Why did he hate Harry so much? Why did _we_ hate him so much? I think I'll never forget the look in his eyes earlier. It was- it was as though he was dead, but something haunted him to stay. Does that make sense?"

Petunia smiled a little. "Yes, Duddikinns, it does. Some things can't be described better than wish-wash."

Dudley just nodded and leaned towards his mother. "Will he get better, Mum?"

"I don't know", Petunia sighed. "How can we help him when he needs his friends?"

"So we're going to send him away?"

"No, we aren't." She took a calming breath and ran her hand through her hair, trying to figure out the best words. "I don't want him back there. Not yet, at least. He's been in danger since he put his foot outside this house and I won't allow that danger to extend. See, he's in need for help and I want to give him the best help. He's in a bad shape now, and I guess he needs time before he can even continue his studies."

Dudley nodded again. "You know what, Mum?"

Petunia smiled and shook her head. "No, what is it, Dud?"

"You're the best Mum in the world. I really mean it, Mum! See, even if we didn't treat Harry right from the beginnng, we've seen our flaws and now we're going to help and protect him. Isn't it awesome?"

She gave him a kiss on his forehead and a pat on his cheek. "Of course we're going to help him. The worst sin is to see one's own flaws, but not do anything about it. That's what Lily said to me way back."

Dudley frowned. "I can slightly recall the name, but who's Lily?"

**{Art of Suicide}**

A certain werewolf, though in its human form, was pacing back and forth on a certain Headmaster's circular office. The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses stared down at him, curiously, as it was rare the man visited the office nowadays; and even more rare he was pacing. This man usually sat down and observed; thought rational without panicking - which a certain animagus did. However, the werewolf was alone with the Headmaster and did not hide his worries.

He was anxious, and anxious werewolves were not to play with.

"I swear to Merlin something is wrong! Hermione, Ron, Ginny - nothing! Molly, Arthur, Sirius, Alastor - nothing! Not even me! Something is wrong and you have to act now! It is dangerous times now, Albus. If something's happened to my cub, I don't know what I'd do."

Albus sighed and rubbed his eyes behind his spectacles. "I don't know, Remus. Five days - you know he usually keeps quiet-"

"And for what reason?" Remus interrupted rigidly. "His relatives are not treating him correctly. You know this; I know this; we all know this. So why are you hesitating? Doesn't Harry mean something to you? Isn't a boy you'd hate to hurt? You hurt him now, Albus. Each moment in that house-", Remus took an inhaling breath as he drew his hand through his hair. "When I saw him the first time, I- he was so skinny I almost thought James'd come back from his grave. I saw his haunted eyes and... his mental state isn't good after a week with those muggles. He's too shy, too withdrawn and hesitating. However, he adapts himself after the environment. You can't do this to him! I mean it. If you won't accept it and face it as it is, I'll take someone with me to check on him. Sirius would gladly help-"

"Sirius will not be taken outside the headquarters, Remus. It's too dangerous."

Remus slammed his fist on the desk with a remarkable force... had he not been a werewolf. "That's what I mean, Albus! It's too dangerous to take risks upon Harry. Even though he hadn't been a target of Voldemort's, I'd rescued him. Not for being James' son; not for being Lily's. I'd come for him for being Harry."

Another sigh let out of the old headmaster's lips as he closed his eyes. He probably thought of his options which were to either check on the boy himself or let Remus do as he wanted. With a tired look on his paperwork, he shook his head in defeat. "Very well. You may go and check on Harry, and I shall wait for reply."

Remus nodded, obviously happy to win the argument. Albus, however, called him back before Remus had closed the door. With a light tip on his head, he locked eyes with the blue, wise eyes.

"Take Severus with you. And you might consider to use Arabella Figg's Floo Network back to my office, as it's the only one that is tied with outside Floos of the school. For emergencies, but I wish for an early report of the boy. I want you take Severus with you", the elder continued with a higher voice to overpower the werewolf's interruption, "for he would know how to act should anything have happened to the boy."

Another nod was the only thing the elder got. He stared as the door closed silently after his former student and a third sigh let out of his lips. "Harry, what are we supposed to do with you? Troubles seem to like you rather dearly indeed. I only wish nothing happened though; that Mr Dursley merely forbade you to write letters. If that is the case, Harry, I am sorry. I know you must feel isolated, but you're safe there. The Blood Wards are in more need now, as Voldemort has ressurected."

**{Art of Suicide}**

A very sour Severus Snape and a victorian Remus Lupin walked up to the door on Privet Drive 4. It was a neighborhood that had their greatest interests on how a perfect house should look; just as everything else. Each house looked similar; smelled similar and were cut in the same lenght. It just was scary to see every house look as the one you just passed, as though you walked on the same place.

It was Remus who knocked on the door. Three quick, gentle but firm knocks on the white, wooden door. They heard quick steps from one room to another and they became louder, but they were not obstreperous. The door opened to admit a horse-like woman who looked torn and exhausted, at the same time rather revealed.

"You're the boy's kind?"

"Harry's?" Remus asked and Severus snorted. _Who else's? _he thought, very irritated to have been ordered to follow the _werewolf_ to _Potter's_ household. When a nod confirmed it, he continued. "Yes. We're wondering where he is? He hasn't responded on our letters and we grew worried." Here, Severus snorted again. He had grown indifferent but annoyed as everyone else in the 'Old Crowd' had grown particular panicked as though the Dark Lord himself had announced control over the boy. Had that happened, however, Severus himself would have panicked.

The woman, Petunia Dursley, looked as though she wanted to cry in their arms. Of course she did not do it; she invited them in and closed the door firmly behind. "Please, have a seat in the kitchen. Harry's asleep at the moment and I've got so much to explain for you."

"Is he okay?" Remus asked protectively. He smelled - a technique all werewolves had - the scent of his cub, but there was something slightly different. Was it horror, his cub felt? Did he not sleep well? Did he dream about Cedric; relived his death time after time again, as he had when he saw the death his first time? "What happened?"

Remus watched around in the passing walls, and noticed the abscene of Harry's life. Severus seemed to notice this as well, but did not show his curiousity. It was not his concern whether the boy were with the rest of the family on pictures or not; he probably held thousands of photos upstairs where he, Severus presumed, were at the moment. Asleep and unaware of the trouble Severus had made for the brat. Again.

They both sat down beside the dinner table and watched Petunia carefully. No; Remus did. Severus glared at her with one of the glares he only gave to those whom he hated. Petunia seemed to notice this particular glare. "I know you", she realized. "You're Severus. Lily's friend."

Severus did not respond, so she turned to Remus and eyed him even more carefully. "You were at her wedding. With Black. He's wanted."

Remus merely nodded. "Yes, but more importantly; He is innocent."

Severus let out a snort. "That cur is anything but innocent." With those words, he was received by a pointy glare from Remus.

"Well, that is hardly what we're here to talk about. About Harry?" He led them to the actual subject.

Something in the environment changed and both men felt it. One did not have to be werewolf to feel the auras of humans' feelings. The pleasantries were gone and an uncomfortable silence ran through the room. Severus, the stoic man, raised a brow and Remus blinked surprised. Petunia's hands had started to shake slightly, but noticeable. As she sat down, she tried to make her as little as possible. Which, however, was not needed. She was almost as thin as Harry. She had not the curves Lily once had.

Just as she was going to start, however, painful cries were heard from the upstairs. Remus' eyes widened and Severus frowned visibly. Petunia, however, broke down crying, unable to explain the situation.

"Severus, go check upstairs, please. I'll take care of Petunia", Remus offered. Severus, who gladly chose Potter before Petunia, hurried upstairs. He convinced himself he did it for the sake of his ears and not for the boy. However, he could not really feel happy for the boy whom had lost his boyfriend earlier this year. That fact added that he was murdered suddenly in front of his eyes. It must have hurt, and Severus knew that. Some things simply were painful and Severus did not intend to remind the boy of his loss further. It had broken Severus' own heart when the news of Lily's death received him.

But Severus was not a sentimental person. Sometimes he could just smirk at others' pain. He dismissed the thought he had been hurt himself during his childhood, and he had never got any help with that. Perhaps, he used to think, it was the reason I became attracted to the Dark Arts.

He simply enjoyed to see other people writhe in pain, or try to hide their hurt. That was probably the main reason he did not have loads of friends. When thinking about it, his only friend was dead. And to know it was his own fault, he tried to pay the debt by keeping her only son safe. And alive, which was rather hard with a Dark Lord after him. Severus did not like the boy personally. In fact, he did not like people, let alone children. However, he could carry civil conversations with some people; a collection that was at least more than a rather few selected. Albus Dumbledore was one of them. The fact that he often got annoyed by his old mentor, did not count. _"Everyone gets annoyed by their mentors"_, was his simple excuse. Others were respected people, such as other Potions Masters and Mistresses. The reason he could carry a civil conversation with them was the fact they talked about something interesting. And they did not need to narrow down their use of words or equations of experiments. They all understood and were in the same level of competence. These meetings were held a week or so each summer and perhaps a social gathering here and there during the year.

However, these cryings from a certain room were rather horrifying. It was as though the boy's life was a pain. Severus, who usually enjoyed the sounds of pain, was not as used to this sort of pain. It was not the physical pain he was used to at the Death Eater meetings or raids, nor was it the small hurt one got by hurtful words. This was _experience_. And as it reminded him about his own childhood, he did not like it. Either he would curse the boy to scream under the _Cruciatus Curse_, or just make him shut up. He, of course, chose the latter. It would do no good to have a feral werewolf after him, should he ever lay a hand to hurt this particular boy.

As he had located the room whence the cryings came from, he noticed that locks were outside the room, even though not locked. Three locks, and it looked as though there had been more - but those had been removed, given the damages on the wall.

Why would someone want to lock a room so much?

But as they were not really locked, he did not give it a second thought. He opened the door and the screams deafened his thoughts. Behind the door did this particular Harry Potter lie. Or writhe, should that be more descriptive. And not only that; the boy writhed in one of the small room's corner. The boy had stomach to refuse a bed, lie on the floor and writhe.

Not to mention the screamings.

How the _Cruciatus Curse_ seemed so beautiful.

"Potter!", Severus snapped. "You better wake up, boy, or I shall make you regret it!"

The cryings and writhings continued. How rude. How dared the boy continue dream?

Severus walked to the small boy and was about to slap him on the face, when he noticed that it had already been slapped. And that the throat had already been strangled.

"What in the Merlin's name has happened to you, boy?", Severus muttered. Could the boy not just _stay out of trouble_ at least one season of the year? And whomever gave the boy so much bruises? He looked like something these farmers put up on their grounds. What was it called? Oh, yes. Scarecrows.

Deciding to wake up the boy carefully - he could snap at him, detect points and deliver sweet hours of detentions during the upcoming term - he knelt down to shake the boy's shoulder. As he did this, the boy froze and the screamings became sniffles.

"Do you miss your dear little boyfriend so much, Potter?", he muttered, rather annoyed. Whatever gave the boy right to not wake up? He should wake up by his mere presence! "Now, wake up! Potter, you are testing my very low patience", he warned and shook the shoulder unnecessarily violent.

That seemed to do, Severus noticed approvingly. "Yes, go on, boy. Wake up!"

The eyes fluttered open and revealed dull, green orbs.

They dared to be dull and emotionless after such screamings and cryings? The boy dared to be arrogant to not show any emotions at all?

"You better not scream that much, next time. Diggory's dead and you better face it by now, Potter."

The dull eyes were not replaced by hurt or sorrow. They remained dull. And Severus hated it, for Lily's eyes should not be dull. There should be emotions floating through the emerald eyes; not be some kind of cold, frozen stones.

"Professor Snape? What are you doing here?"

So the boy recognized him, even though he used a toneless voice. However, that was one detention lesser. "I am here to check on you, since you have worried the whole Weasley clan, a certain Granger and werwolf, your mutt of a godfather and some other people who - surprisingly - seem to care of you."

The expression on his face did not change. "I have?" Even the tone was emotionless. Again. Did the boy not even care for the people that cared for him? Could he be even worse than his father?

Surely not. _He_ did not steal his enemy's own created spells. Not that Potter would use Dark Arts to hurt Draco Malfoy. Severus doubted he would even use them against the Dark Lord, when the time came. He was too noble.

"You arrogant brat! You haven't written at all to confirm your welfare. Your friends are firmly convinced Death Eaters have taken you away and are torturing you this very moment. You better have an excuse to -"

"I asked him not to write, Severus", came a sad voice behind him. As in a reflex, his wand was in his hand and his eyes on the intruder. Petunia Dursley. Again. He put the wand back in his sleeve and raised a brow as an invitation for her to continue. "I didn't know how to contact you. I could've used Harry's owl, but I really didn't want Harry to be... _prepared_ for this conversation we need to have. Severus, why don't you wait downstairs with Remus, and I'll take Harry downstairs?"

Severus snorted, but did as he was told. He blamed it on the simple reason he did not want to be in the same room with the evil sister to his dead friend, and the son of his dead friend and school enemy. Especially when they were there at the same time. With the little boy - who was as skinny as before - in a bad emotional state and a caring aunt.

Had he not been right all the time? Of course Potter was spoiled. Arrogant and spoiled, filled of Gryffindorish foolishness.

He ignored all the facts the boy did not seem to have one single dingus that pointed out someone actually lived in the room. Except from the empty owl cage.

Petunia watched Severus walk out the room and she shook her head. Some people just grew up sour, and some did not. However, she could not blame the man for being angry at her. She had not been nice at the man in their childhood, after all. But everyone was a child as well as they had to grow up sometime. Those who had the chance, at the very least.

She took her nephew into her arms and stroke away the bangs on his forehead. The action revealed the lightening bolt scar that was awfully red against the pale skin. It seemed to be a rather bad time for the boy. She really wanted to be a good aunt and pay eternity for her priceless mistakes.

"Harry", she began and stroke the boy's cheek. He seemed to be used to her touch, even though he was stiff and wary. It hurt her to know this boy had to go through this sort of recovering. Had she been in charge, no one would have to go through this. However, one bad thing brings a good it seemed. Vernon's abuse would probably have gone unnoticed had Harry not ended up on the hospital. "I want to help you, you know that, right?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"I want to explain for Remus and Severus about what has happend. You need help and I think it'd be inappropriate for you to go to Hogwarts for now."

"Okay, Aunt Petunia."

She blinked, though not all too surprised by the short answers. "So you want me to tell them? And perhaps get help for you? You give me a chance?"

Harry did not blink. "Give you a chance to what?"

"To be the aunt I've never been for you."

"Oh, that. That'd be rather nice, I think. We could picknick somewhere. D'you think Dudley wants to come? I would love if he wanted. I always wanted to follow you when you picknicked, you know. I've never been on picknicked, however. I hoped I'd take Cedric out and picknicking later but I guess that doesn't work out well now. See, he hates me, Aunt Petunia. I think he really does. Would you give me something sugary then, if we picknick? I like sugary things. It tastes different to salty things."

She licked her lips inside her mouth before she responded. "I think we could picknick sometime later, Harry. For now, I want to tell Remus and Severus about what's happened, okay?"

"Do you know a funny thing, Aunt Petunia? Severus is the name the professor in Potions. He hates me too. I think everyone hates me. See, people wore these _Potter Stinks _badgers last year. 'Cept Cedric. He didn't. Not even Ron when he hated me for a while. Hermione didn't hate me. She hated me in third year instead, I think. Everyone seems to hate me, you know. Did I say Cedric didn't? But he does now. What if I started to hate everyone back? Think that'll do some good, do you? I can start now, if you want to test it."

"No, Harry, I don't think it'd do any good", she said carefully. "And I don't hate you."

"But you did", he pointed out. "Before _He_ came. _He_ didn't hate me, by the way. He said I was a beautiful slut. You think I'm a beautiful slut, Aunt Petunia?"

"I most certainly do not, Harry!", she exclaimed. Just to hear him talk like that about himself made her want to tear this man apart. With her own hands. "You're beautiful. Just beautiful."

"I don't think I'm just beautiful, Aunt Petunia. He said he'd come back, because I was good. Then it must mean I'm something else, right? But beautiful?", he snorted and shook his head in disbelief. "You know, picknick would be great. Don't tell Uncle Vernon, though. He'd never allow people see me with you. I think he'd use thirty-five times then. I can barely manage thirty times without crying. See, you just need to be prepared and go into this light place. It isn't light anymore, though. It's dark there. Cedric dies there, over and over again. And those hands scare me. Picknick, Aunt Petunia. When will we go for picknick?"

**{Art of Suicide}**

Remus watched the Potions Master leave the house. It seemed that now it was proven the boy was safe in his aunt's loving arms, he was not needed anymore. But Remus knew better. He could feel the tension between Severus and Petunia. He did not question it, however, since he knew that they grew up in the same neighborhood. It seemed that Petunia had not liked the boy, which no one could blame. One usually did not like Severus. But Lily and Severus had been friends. Remus knew, after all, they had been friends even before Hogwarts and thus must have lived rather close together.

Lily never talked about Severus when they graduated. It was as though she was ashamed by the fact she had left a friend in need; that she left him alone to the Dark Arts. She had known he took all his pain out on others, and she had tried to help. Remus was the only one who knew about this, since Alice by no means would remember that. Lily never forgave herself when she heard Severus had taken the Dark Mark. She constantly blamed herself and each time someone mentioned him, she would stiffen and blanch out. This, she told Remus, and Alice Longbottom, when she needed someone to find comfort. James and Sirius were good choices too, but they tried to cheer one up instead of going deep within the feelings. It made them uncomfortable to feel, and see other feel sad. It was as though their task in their lives were to cheer others up.

About Lily and Severus though. The two had been very close, after all. Remus had not seen the Potions Master after the fateful night when Voldemort brought Harry his scar. He sometimes wished he had seen the man's reactions when he found out the death of the woman he grew up with.

Such pain it must have been, since his last word to her was - except for his continuously tries to pay for the slip - mudblood. He must have felt so guilty and angry. Remus almost found himself pity the man. However, he himself had left the country when he was convinced that Sirius had betrayed them all and he had no friends left.

The man he had loved was the traitor, everyone had thought that. His world had changed when he had found out Lily and James were dead. It had almost let the werewolf out in complete control. And then Sirius was sent to Azkaban after he killed Peter. It was clear he had needed the break. Albus had, after all, told him little Harry was safe. And he was right, of course. By seeing the woman's care for him. Perhaps it was just the uncle and cousin that was bad?

Which reminded him; where were they?

He had not much time before Petunia came down with a very ill-looking Harry. Protectiveness flooded through the werewolf's veins. Harry looked worse than he did after the death of his boyfriend.

In fact, he looked dead himself.

"Harry?", he heard himself speak. "Harry, are you okay?"

The dead expression on his face did not change. He barely moved his bitten lips at all. "Hullo, Professor. I feel like someone squeezed out my soul. Like a dementor, but I don't even feel. I have no idea if that's what 'okay' feels like."

Remus blinked. Harry seemed to be so indifferent by the words he just uttered, as though it was the most normal thing to say. The boy seemed to be more confused by the fact Remus was there, than his changed behaviour.

One thing was sure, Remus told himself, and that was that he would listen to Petunia's every word. And, of course, observe his cub. That was what he did. Watch out for his cub. Apparently he had failed a little on that task, but how bad could it be?

_Idiot! It is bad enough to make Harry totally insane!_

Harry'll never turn insane, Lupin.

We'll see, dear self. We'll see. Just look at the lad. Do you see someone who wouldn't turn insane?

Remus shook his head and turned his attention to Petunia. "Well? Care to explain?"

"Harry got raped-"

"I did not, Aunt Petunia! He was very charming, though I didn't really see him. He said I was beautiful and that I deserved to have some pleasantries in my life. Who can't deny such offer?"

Petunia sent a look at Remus, who currently stared at his white knuckles. At the mention of "rape" and "Harry" in the same sentece, Remus almost took Harry into his arms to run away after having Little Whining blown up in the air. And then have it added by Harry's words.

He wanted to strangle someone. Or just tear someone's limbs apart. That would have felt so nice. It would have felt like justice to Harry.

Then Remus came back again, knowing that Harry would never want anyone's limbs splitted from their bodies, even though the crimes.

He bit his lips and stared at Harry. The boy looked wary, as though he expected an attack in the very moment. Then he noticed those small changes that teenagers went through during their years. His cheekbones stood out a little more - more than usual, that is - and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. How much sleep did the boy get, anyway? His nose looked more like Lily's, when Remus really looked at it. In fact, many appearances in Harry's face were Lily's more than James'. He figured that when just giving Harry a glance, he looked like James as the shape of his face was James, and the untamable hair just added it. But when looking closer his nose, forehead and cheeks were more Lily's.

Something twisted in his stomach. How much he wanted them back. It hurt every time he looked into Harry's eyes. But then, he would never let his cub in the hands of evil.

Which he had let more than once.

_Oh Merlin, did she say _rape_?_

"Harry? Is this true?" _Of course it is, you stupid idiot! Petunia wouldn't lie about this, now would she?_

"That I got raped? No. No, no, no; For whatever reason? Rape is a brutal crime, Professor. Very brutal. It wasn't brutal for me. See, I think he loves me. He said I was beautiful. Why would he say that, if it was rape?" Harry shook his head, obvious found it amusing that his aunt and ex-professor thought he had been raped. "Sometimes you are overprotective, sir. But I don't know with you, Aunt Petunia. Why d'you suddenly care about me? And where's Uncle Vernon and Dudley? D'you think they got angry at me when I didn't make their breakfast? I hope they aren't. You promised me I didn't have to!"

Remus noticed that Harry's face darkened. Whether it was because of pain or betrayal, he did not know. The words that left Harry's lips - in that particular tone - was enough.

"You promised me safety, Professor Lupin. Where were you? Where were you when I needed you? I begged and I pleaded. He took my soul when you promised me safety. I'm very disappointed in myself, for now I'm neither here nor there. It's confusing when it doesn't make sense. I can't think straight. I really want to do this picknick. I really do. You may come with us, Professor. Sirius can come as a dog, can't he?" His bitten lips twitched as though he could not decide whether that was good or bad. "You both promised me safety. See where it lead me? I'm nowhere to be found. But that's to be expected. That's fine. D'you think Cedric would like to follow us on picknick?"

Remus stared blankly at his cub. This was not his cub! And yet it was. All evidence were laid on the table. He had failed to protect his cub, even though he had begged him to stay with them this summer. He had begged, but they all had dismissed it, thinking a few weeks were nothing to worry about.

"You promised me protection! You all did! Give it back to me; I demand it! I don't want to live without my life. Never safe. Kill the spare, he said, and I watched him die. He's mad at me, for you did not keep your promise. I want him back. He's the only one that made me stay sane. The only one. And now I'm no one, nowhere to be found."

Now, he knew why Petunia wanted to call attention to Harry by not letting him write back. It would, for once, not have been understandable letters. And it would not have done anything good, had Harry asked for someone to come and check his mental state. Albus would simply tell that later would be fine. The others would have exhaled in relief; The boy was safe and not in the hands of the Death Eaters.

Petunia had wanted them to send the best protective wizards to Harry, to ensure he would get a good treatment. Remus had to admit it was a clever move by her. She could not have sent the boy to a Muggle ward, since he would probably be taken even more insane if he talked about evil dark wizards.

And the Wizarding World would have been aware of the boy's state in the upcoming paper.

Remus frowned. What move was he supposed to take? Probably aware Albus and the Order. But had they not enough to do, just to recruit members? Surely the boy was more important.

A glance on the boy said everything. He was rocking back and forth, not aware of his surroundings. The Dark Lord himself could probably appear and Harry would not have seen any difference.

**{Art of Suicide}**

Oh, they think I'm mad. I can sing all day, and they would not have looked at me any different. I'm mad in their opinions. Perhaps it is time for some madness? I'm tired of being their happy little pawn. I want to be Harry. Just Harry. And now it is my chance, yes?

But I see the wall and I feel the urge. I want to throw my whole body against the wall and feel my ribs break. It would feel so horribly nice, to feel pain again. It's like, well, it's like I've finally found home.

Balmy, to think that I'd find a home in pain. Perhaps, if one felt too much pain, you become safe there.

What was it now again? Oh, yes. Best safety lies in fear.

**[A/N}** _Much schoolwork now, again. I sigh and I sigh and I sigh. However, it will probably be a little delay. A couple of weeks, I believe. I need to build up the next chapter, as well. I think we will see a little view of the rapist. No promises though, just the mere warning it will take longer for next chapter._

And I am aware this was a long chapter. Please review your thoughts! It is interesting to read them, although I probably will not answer all. I do not find it necessary to show gratitude to individual person, when I can simply say it here. Thanks for reviews in last chapter.

Why does it feel like I've already said that?


	3. Chapter III

**[A/N}** _No, Harry does not feign madness. He believes he is _**the**_ normal one. His thoughts are twisted, I am quite aware._

Thanks for the reviews. As for this chapter, I am not happy with it. I have had a rather rough month, and still have. I have much school work to do, so my apologizes for the delay. During this month I have had my ups and downs, which probably is clear when reading and some personal issues have appeared. That is my only explanaiton as to why I am late with the update.

17 pages including the two AN's, just for you.****

{Art of Suicide}  
Chapter III: _The lunatics arrive  
_  
_Is this how it feels to be skinned alive? Perhaps not. The fire is inside of me. It is like a core or something, exploding in waves and slowly eats me up._

Parasites are born and I claw my skin. My neck. My throat. My chest and my arms. Why cannot they disappear? Vanish?

I lie in foetal position. I lie on my back. I lie on my knees. No position can make this disappear. Why? Why is it like this? Every night, every time I close my eyes, I have to relive it. I cannot escape these horrid... things. Memories.

I cannot breathe. I am choking. Strange sounds sparkle alive in my throat. Growls? And I cannot open my eyes. I just cannot! If I do that, Cedric will disappear from my eyes. He will disappear and I cannot let him go again. Never. For I was not supposed to let him go at all.

Is it Cedric who caresses my body in this gentle way, beneath my own claws? Slowly, hands are caressing my head, down my neck and spine; my cheeks, my lips, my chest. Cedric never really touched me like this, did he? Well, my face was often connected with his hesitant fingers, but never too much on my body. Not this way.

"Ced-edric," I whimper, "s-stop hau-aunting me."

Then, the hands become harsher. Rougher in some way. Strangle me, the hands do. I think I have a vague memory from where these hands come from - but I do not want to remember it. I do not want it! I want to push it out of my mind. Obliviate me? Get Cedric back, for me?

Cedric smiles; nods as though to encourage me. To do what? I cannot comprehend the dead. They are so mysterious, so quiet and yet screaming the answers.

The hands become gentle again. Down my spine, my legs; down my chest and stomach. They travel down. I shake my head. Not again! Not again! Cedric, help me!

But Cedric smiles innocently. Is this how he will pay back?

Or is it my hands that travel down?

Why does my body react? Why does Cedric smile?

Can someone just explain why I was even brought to existence! If this is how I will have to live-

"A-aunt Petu-tunia? Dud-eh-ley?"

They just continue to snore as a reply.  
  
**{Art of Suicide}**

The "Old Crowd"'s members - the memebers in the _Order of the Pheonix_ - stared at Remus at first. Most of them had raised their eyebrows in disbelief, while others - like Molly Weasley - sniffled quietly. Sirius bit his cheeks and clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody's magical eye spun around and observed the others while Severus still held his impassive mask upon his face - though he had raised his right eyebrow slightly to look sceptical.

It took a few moments for everyone to understand what exactly Remus had said, and then the chaos began. Everyone talked in their mouths of each other; some even hit the table with their fist (Sirius and Arthur to name the most brutal) to probate their opinions.

"It can't be true!"

"We have to catch the bastard!"

"Personally I think it's better to let the boy breathe-"

"I think we should visit him, to cheer him up-"

"You think that's a good idea? He's probably scared out of-"

"Poor boy, as if he hasn't had enough already!"

"Indeed, with all this about the Tournament and then Diggory-"

"You think it's a Muggle or Magical? I believe it's a Muggle. No offences against them, but any magical being should understand by now that _Potter _isn't to mess with-"

"Precisely, he defeated _You-Know-Who_ for us-"

"- Prophet thinks he's mad. Probably they're right now, yes?"

"Oh hush, you! Harry isn't mad! He's probably just a little bit lost-"

"Silence!" Albus' voice rang through the room, and was as usual effective. His blue eyes did no longer hold their merrily twinkle. They were fierce and blazing, slicing through each person's capacity to argue even further. His hands were resting on the table while he stood halfway up from his chair, but even then he looked tall and powerful. He slowly turned his gaze to Remus. "Remus, what was your thought when you saw Harry? Did you talk to him?"

Everyone's eyes turned to the werewolf, who was fidgeting and bitting his lips. He looked around quickly, before he met the Headmaster's eyes. "Yes, I talked to him. He was", he took a breath. Whether it was to calm himself or find his words, no one knew. "He was not well. He talked like- like he's gone mad, Albus!" The amber eyes looked at the blue ones with pleading emotions. "Please, Albus, we can't let him down now. I promised to protect him- we all did! And look what's happened!"

"He shouldn't have left the house, let alone on at night", Albus pointed out. "No boy should walk around on dead streets."

"Well, that's true", Arthur said with a frown. "I mean, I wouldn't let my children out in the middle of the night - even though it wasn't war. But then again, what kind of rules do the Dursleys have? I mean, they mostly ignore him, from what I've heard. Just as long their own son gets the best, they don't care about Harry, so where would he've learnt what to do and not do?"

Sirius grunted in agreement. "Exactly. And the fact it took_ this _to break Harry just shows how strong he is. He can make it through, I know he can. He's James' and Lily's son, for Merlin's sake!"

"And it doesn't make it right to rape a child, just because the child walks outside at night", barked Alastor. As a former Auror, he had never had to take care of rapists. Now, though, he wanted to send the culprit straight way to Azkaban with no trial. The world's fate laid in the boy's hands, and now he was in no mental state to be the saviour.

Molly burst into cryings and Nymphadora Tonks tried to calm her by patting her shoulder rather awkwardly. "Now, Molly, it won't do to cry. We've got to cheer him up!"

Severus pursed his lips. So that was why the boy acted more peculiar and kaput than after Diggory's death. Now, he could not blame the boy to be totally out of his mind. Severus himself would never like to be in a duel with the Dark Lord, let alone be the one with the blood to ressurect him, lose his boyfriend and then get raped. However, he thought that the others were acting on their feelings. _Cheer him up; Catch the bastard; Let the boy breathe..._ What exactly would it do to do any of these things? To throw some party at Privet Drive would make the boy scared witless. To catch the bastard they needed to question every person who might have been in Surrey that day. And let the boy breathe - well that was a good idea. But to let him breathe too much will cause him debates with himself in his own mind, and slice it in two pieces or more. Or just drive him insane.

So yes, Severus thought they all acted on their feelings; rage, sympathy, pity... This, mostly because no one but Severus in the Order was a Slytherin. Merlin knew they needed _someone _to lead them on the right way and _stop_ them from doing anything foolish, like throw a party for Harry, with Harry, as a surprise, for Severus knew, that they would probably all run to Privet Drive and have a surprise party there. The boy would probably just stare at them as though they were fools - which most of them were in Severus' own opinion - or be scared and hide somewhere.

"Severus?" Albus called his attention. "What was your thoughts when you saw the boy? Anything particular?"

Severus snorted. "I had to wake him from a nightmare. He was screaming so that I could barely hear myself thinking. I left after that, as I had seen the boy alive and safe within the Wards."

A curt nod came from Albus (Sirius still growled) and he looked at each and everyone with searching, blue eyes, as though to find hidden information. "So are we done?", he then asked. "Is there any questions or reports I need to hear?" When everyone shook their heads, he cleared the meeting over, but asked Severus to stay behind.

The Grimmauld Place 12 cleared out the Order members, though a few stayed. When the kitchen was empty except for Severus and Albus, the Headmaster sighed heavily.

"Severus, I need to ask you something."

Instantly the younger was alarmed. It never boded well when his mentor said that. Usually it was about risking his life - or position as a spy - to save Potter's skin. And given what just had happened, Severus had a vague anticipation of what to come.

"What is it, Albus?"

"I want you to help Harry."

As he had thought. That did not mean he would do what his mentor asked for, though. "No", he said simply. "I will not help the brat now. He is mad, and I will not be the one he will lean on when he needs help. As for my position as a spy-"

"That will not be needed", Albus said and his eyes twinkled for a second. "Harry is more important than that. And I'm sure you could make an _Unbreakable Oath _to never reveal what you learn about Harry, nor take him to Voldemort."

Severus eyes narrowed. "I won't do it. Can you imagine his wrath, to know his most loyal follower knows Potter's most inner feelings?"

"And Voldemort doesn't?" Albus raised his eyebrows. "I thought the connection let him-"

"Of course! But the Dark Lord does not sit days in and days out and look through each and every memory the boy has. Surely you must understand he has better things to do-"

"Indeed", Albus interrupted. "But he could search through every memory the boy has, and thus you can help him through this and not risk your position as a spy. You could say, the first thing, that you would rather spend fifty years in Azkaban than being Harry's mentor."

"And what is in it for me?"

"The future, Severus. The future lies in the boy's hands, and you know it."

Sure he knew it, and he did not like it. Could it not have been anyone, anyone but _James Potter's _brat? Did the boy really need to carry the name 'Potter', and make the line even more famous? His children, grandchildren - the whole line will be even better than the Black's! The Potter line's wealth was just below the Prince's - though Severus' grandfather still was alive and could therefore not inherit the money - and the Malfoy's were below the Black's and above the Prince's. Now, however, it was different times. The Potter line would race to the first place and be classed as the wealthiest family in the Great Britain. Probably the whole Europe, too. It was insanity. Just because he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort at the age of fifteen months!

"Why do I have to do it?", Severus inquired. "Why not Lupin?"

"It won't do for him to hear his cub in such vulnerable state."

"One of the Weasleys?"

"Have enough with their own family."

"Hagrid? Minerva? Why not _you_?", Severus asked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Why is it that I always have to clear the mess?"

"Now, do you really think you have to do that?" When Severus raised a brow as to say "When have I never?", Albus sighed. "Hagrid is on a mission, as you well know. Minerva is not as good as you at this."

"And I should be good at this? To listen when the boy pours his feelings at me? Or when the boy tries to attack me for being this 'greasy git'?"

A light chuckle let out of the Headmaster's lips. "Now, now, Severus. You cannot deny you and Harry have a lot in common-"

"I do _not _have anything in common with that insufferable brat!", Severus growled and slammed his fit on the kitchen table - just as Sirius had before.

"No? Then how come your childhoods seem rather similar to one another?"

The obsidian eyes sent lightnings into the blue - now constantly twinkling - eyes. Severus knew he had once again lost an argument. "Albus", he tried again, though not calm. "While the boy may have not been loved by his family, as Molly and Arthur insist he hasn't, I never endured such things. Let alone before Hogwarts!"

"Such things as-?"

Severus sniffed. "Such as being locked inside my own room with bars on my window, or live in a cupboard for ten years."

Albus nodded. "That is correct. However, your mother-"

"Don't go there."

"Your father-"

"Don't you _dare_ call him my father!"

"You're perfect for each other!", Albus decided merrily and clasped his hands as if it was settled. "You can help one another! You have not solved your own childhood problems yet. You can help Harry through this, and meanwhile figure out how to leave your childhood behind - solved, of course..."

Severus just felt he wanted to slam his head against the wall and lose his consciousness. As he had said; Why was it _Potter_ of all people?

"Why not you?"

"I have too much to do, Severus. The Ministry, Hogwarts-"

"You just said Potter's more important!"

"And now _you_ did."

Severus growled angrily. "_Why not Black_?"

"Oh, Severus, we all know Sirius has a foul temperament and would probably scare the poor boy away."

The younger man clenched his fists. _Then what would I do? Cuddle the boy?_

He never voiced his thoughts though, just made a mental note to himself to prepare Headache Relief Potions and Firewishkeys.

**{Art of Suicide}**

It is funny. Just to stare at them. I can see their worry, their shame and guilt. I don't care though, it is just funny to stare. You can see whatever you want. You can change the contours of a person just by your staring. In your own imagination, that is. I made Aunt Petunia as white as snow yesterday. It was funny. And she had a little more flesh on her bones then. Now I try to make Dudley a girl, and it is not even hard.

It is really funny, because you lose yourself in it. You don't need to think about the things that drive you into madness and insanity. You can just change and change and change until there is nothing more to change.

They think you are mad though. The ones you stare at. They think your mind is empty and that a fog has taken over. But it is not that way. You can build up your own little world until you are ready to face the real one. If you ever will be, that is.

I am worried though. I really am. I mean, they are talking, Aunt Petunia and Dudley. About me, I guess. It makes me squirm and fidget. I do not like the attention at me, but I guess I was born to never have what I want; what I need.

I am worried about what they will do. About me. If they are going to send me away or keep me imprisoned in this house. Not that I would ever put my foot outside again. I am not afraid of what could happen to me if I did; I am more afraid of what Cedric would think of me. I mean, it would mean I want more, would it not?

Dudley is a shade of navy blue. His cheeks are sparkling and his eyes are amethysts. I make his ears a little bit bigger and his hair in fierce red colour. His lips are as red as Snow White's, and when he speaks, I make his tounge green. It is funny, and I think I laugh. I am not sure though, as I do not recognize any sound I make. I can be growling, for all I know.

Whatever sound I make, they turn their gazes at me. Nervous, are they not? Why? Because I laughed? Am I not allowed? Perhaps that rule still stands. I should be quiet, non-existing. But how can I stand quiet, when I really need to change contours and forms, colours and shades and laugh? It is funny, to just see how I can transfigure a toaster to a cow. And if I cannot do this, then I will have to face the world.

I do not want that. I really don't. I cannot face it. Not yet. Not ever.

I think I stand up to walk away, when Petunia calls my attention. She talks to me, I believe. Her green lips are moving and I just stare back. Is it scary, Aunt Petunia, to see me like this? Do you regret to never have given me the childhood I always wanted? At least you never hurt me more than slaps. And these slaps even Dudley could get. I admit that I felt something from you; some silent comfort or something. As if you really did want me to be happy, but could not figure out how to make sure of it. You are trying to repay me now, by being someone I can depend on, are you not?

I always wanted your love. Yours, Uncle Vernon's and Dudley's. I never got it. And now, the one I loved and held close to my heart-

Do you understand; can you fathom how much it hurts? I dream of it. Every night. Each night I see him collapse on the ground and stare up without the emotions floating in the depth of his eyes. It tears me apart from my insides out; like acid in my veins. I feel the urge to cry; to slit myself in pieces - but I cannot do it. It is like all my emotions are frozen. They burn and they burn and they burn but there are glaciers surrounding the very fire. I cannot extinguish it.

It is comfortable, though, to be mad. I do not have any expectations but to get better. And they expect me to get better with the time going. I don't. I will never get better. In fact, I think I am sinking deeper.

"Harry? Are you listening?"

Harry, am I listening? I do not know. How _can_ I know? I think I do, though. Otherwise I would not get that thought in my head, would I? So I nod my head, warily, and I think I meet her now benitoite-like eyes. The violet shades are flashing in worry and concern. No longer are they filled with the disgust and disdain, and I am not entirely sure whether to be glad or furious. I think I remain calm, just in case.

"Remus Lupin told me Severus is going to talk to you about.. this. Tomorrow. Is that okay?"

Of course it is not okay. It is Severus Snape, for Merlin's sake! He hates me and I - well, we just_ loathe _one another. It will not work. It is like to put two negative charged magnets together - at least to try. But I will not say that. Of course Snape may come and try to talk to me, lose his temper and never return. It is easier that way, I decide and nod again.

"Okay, that is.. good", Aunt Petunia says and looks uncertain. "So, where were you going?"

"My room", I reply simply and do just that. I am glad no one tries to stop me, because I think I would hex that person. Annoyance has taken over me, and I am not even sure why. It scares me, how my moods shift as fast as lightning but still I remain calm and collected. I can be indifferent about my environment until someone stops me from doing what I've decided to do. It makes me annoyed and nervous, for what if I haven't got the time to do it _later_? But it is like every emotion I get, as for annoyance or grief, they get locked away in a room I do not know. And yet I feel them, they are vibrating, but I cannot reach them and free them.

I am not sure what I want to do in my room. Either I will hold my breath until I cannot hold it anymore, or I will hit my head so hard I lose my consciousness, for now it is too tiresome to live. At least to be conscious. Thoughts are haunting the back of my mind and I just want to escape them. They are scary. I should not have them. They are dark and evil and scary.

I want to laugh with my friends again; I want to kiss Cedric's light lips again; I want to think properly again. But at the same time, I kind of enjoy to change the colours on the carpets.

**{Art of Suicide}**

The room was checked. Every other square was sallow or faded black. From the entry of the black door, you could see only the first part of the room. On the opposite side of the door, just a little further to left, was the window. No curtains hung there. Beside the window was a chair and a desk (which was covered with parchments). Posters on the Scottish National Quidditch team covered the better part of the wall and its wallpapers. An outdated bookshelf was just to the left of the door. However, the books seemed to be just shoved inside and in no specific order.

Further, on the left wall from the door, was another door. This one, however, was bigger than the first, and made of brass. If you entered this door, you came to a huge room. Bookshelfs hung upon the wall - and these books on there seemed to actually be in some organized order. The floor was of dark wooden and windows covered the right wall (from the entry). Here were also trophies and medals from chess and other hobby prizes.

Why this room was so big probably depended on the fact there was a stair in the middle of the room, also of brass, and if you walked up you came to the bed chamber. And as there were portraits around in the big room, one of them could appear in the empty portrait in the bedchamber to alarm the one who lived in this room - these rooms - should that be needed.

Actually, it was in the bedchamber two brothers were present. They were almost identical. The elder were taller though, and appeared to be proud over his name. He held his chin high and his shoulders showed everyone how confident he was. Both had a darker shade of blonde hair and brown eyes. The younger sat upon his bed with the Quidditch News-paper in his lap, while the younger leaned against the sallow wall with one leg bent on its knee, his foot resting behind himself against the wall.

"You think I'll be able to corner him?" The younger asked.

"I don't think, brother dearest. I know you will. He'll be insane. I know how to do these things. Remember that girl in my fourth year? In Ravenclaw? She went insane. I think she's still in St. Mungo's."

The younger chuckled darkly. "I believe this will be loads of fun."

"Us between, I enjoyed it", the elder said. "He was tight. He cried, you know. One would think _the Boy Who Lived _would be able to stand against, eh?"

"He's a lion, you moron. He acts before thinking, so why should he be able to stand against _you_?"

The elder snorted. "He doesn't think at all. Seriously, that piece of bullshit he came up about Diggory's death? I, for one, would never sink as low to lie about a murder."

"You'd actually murder someone and not lie about it?"

A frown let out on the elder's face. "Hm, perhaps I'd do. But I wouldn't need to do it. See, we've got a lot of power in the Wizengamot. And I'd never come up with the insane idea that You Know Who's back."

"Perhaps", the younger said with a smirk, "perhaps we didn't need to make the idiot even more insane."

**{Art of Suicide}  
**  
"Potter."

"Professor."

"I see manners have sparkled alive within you."

"I merely do not wish to tell you what exactly I think of you."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy. He was indeed in no good mood today. He had hoped the Headmaster would have changed his wish and let Lupin take care of the broken boy. Of course that did not happen, and he was now standing in the middle of the living room at Privet Drive 4. He crossed his arms over his chest, just to make it clear he was still in charge. His too-many-times-broken nose wrinkled to point out that he found Potter disgusting.

The fact he had been raped did not change the matter. Potter had always disgusted Severus. Well, at least annoyed him by acting like James Potter, whom had disgusted Severus.

"If you believe, Potter, that I have nothing better to do than wasting my time to be here, you have been sorely misled", Severus said quietly. "I have no wish to be here whatsoever."

"Feeling's mutual, sir."

Severus' eyes flashed dangerously. What in the name of Merlin and all his hair had happened to Potter? He acted almost like a Slytherin. He tapped his fingers on his chin. What if Severus could make him a Slytherin? It would be more pleasant to meet death then, knowing that Potter Senior had gotten back by having a Slytherin son. He suppressed a smirk.

"Well, Potter, it looks like we have something in common after all, yes? Now, as neither of us wish to be here, I believe it is amenable that we both get it over. I ask questions, you answer them. Are we understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Severus gave a curt nod and conjured a chair in front of Potter, whom already sat in a chair. "Do you feel safer at Hogwarts or here?"

Potter's eyes stared back. "Neither, sir."

"You must choose."

"Here, sir."

Severus raised a brow, actually rather surprised. "And why, pray tell, do you feel safer here?"

"Because, sir, I have never been attacked by neither Voldemort, his Death Eaters, Dementors or Grindylows."

"Do you feel you cannot relax at Hogwarts?"

An insane cackle let out of Potter's lips, and Severus raised a brow, again. "Now, what is so amusing?"

"Who is able to relax at Hogwarts, sir? It is essay after essay, lesson after lesson, lecture after lecture, pressure on pressure and then each and every year something just happens in June. Does it not say anything particular to you?" Potter snickered. "You're a lunatic, Professor Severus Snape, if you can relax in any place of the Magical World."

**{Art of Suicide}**

Ronald Weasley awoke around three in the morning. Which was strange, as he usually slept a whole night without interruption. At least when Harry Potter was not around. Not that Harry bothered him. Ron felt sorry for his friend to go through such visions from the Dark Lord. He, himself, would have gone mad if he saw torture every other night instead of dreaming about what he liked, like Quidditch. Or trivial, usual teenage nightmares.

So the first thought that went through the red haired boy's mind was _"Go back to sleep, you moron!"_, before he felt a poke on his arm.

He froze, and suddenly his slumber drained away. Instantly he had his wand in his hand and aimed to whomever was standing just beside his bed. And said wand dropped slightly when he figured out who it was.

"_Hermione_?"

Ron could not see for sure, as it was rather dark in the room this night. It had rained earlier. In fact it had rained until midnight. But he could figure the contours of his friend as well as he could catch the word "Quidditch" by a mere glance in a book. Well, when the word "Quidditch" was written, that is.

A small, nervous chuckle let out of Hermione's lips, and the shadowed figure nodded.

"Lumos", Ron whispered, and the top of the wand lit up. He could now see his friend standing there, with Crookshanks in her arms. Apparently she had received a word from the Order about the occurrence of Harry's. Her eyes were slightly red and swollen and it looked as though she had bitten her lower lip rather hard.

As the good friend Ron was, he took her into his arms and drew his hand on her back in calming motions. "When did you come, 'Mione?", he asked in a low voice.

She sniffled before she answered with a low, high-pitched voice. "Just after you went to bed, Mrs Weasley said. I can't sleep though. I think of Harry all the time and how he must be- be coping, if coping at all."

That was exactly the reason Ron slept, though. To gain some of his well-worth rest away from the ever circulating thoughts about his best friend. The family had been notified about what had happened and that Harry probably would not come over to Grimmauld Place immediately. Ron hated to be at this place, and it was not because it was Sirius' home during the most of his childhood, but for the fact Harry was not the one to be there - first - with Sirius - alone. Great Merlin, he was Sirius' godson! It just made sense that he was supposed to be there first and then invite people over. Not that Harry would have had much to say about it, as Sirius was the one to suggest the place as a Headquarter for the Order.

And it was boring at the place. Without Harry everything seemed... what? Calm? It probably would have felt that way, had Molly not been running around in the house, demanding the place itself to get clean. And his family was no better. Molly spent time cleaning, cooking, crying and these things all over again, when it was not an Order meeting. Arthur had his work, recruit trusted people to the Order, stay low at the Ministry and calm Molly. Ron's siblings were either cleaning, worrying or downright depressive.

So Ron welcomed Hermione with open arms, even though she was almost an exact replacement of what he already had endured.

"He'll get better. You can't bury yourself, 'kay? You have to stand strong so we can be there for him when he needs, right?" Ron was, however, not entirely convinced himself. Rape was not only a physical thing, but emotional and mental as well. And, well, it was rather clear that Harry had had enough during this year.

But Hermione just shook her head. "But you don't understand, Ron! He needs us _now_! We're his friends! He can't stay locked inside a room-"

"He isn't 'locked inside a room' any longer, 'Mione."

"Isn't? They- they let him free?" Hermione's eyes widened slightly, before a small twitch on her lips could be seen. She tried to picture Harry's happiness; to be able to walk around in the house where he lived. It must have been wonderful, she decided, had he not been molested.

"Yes", Ron replied with a small smile. "His aunt realized things had gone too far, and wanted to help."

Hermione jumped out of Ron's reach with a squeak. "But that's just wonderful! Harry can get the family he deserves!"

Ron frowned. "But, 'Mione, I hate to break the glee, but- what if it's too late? The family thing, I mean?", he asked, and received an angry slap on his face. "Ouch!"

"Don't you go round say things like that, Ronald Weasley! He'll be fine! I'll see to it! Of course he'll be; he's Harry, right?"

"Harry, yes. Just Harry, just like he wants to be. But 'Mione, have you not realized even _'just Harry' _has limits of what he's able to endure?" Ron's pessimism finally broke through the barriers.

"But it's Harry we know, and I know he'll be alright. He's got us."

"And a bunch of Death Eaters, a madman, the Ministry and ninety-seven percent of the Wizarding people in Britain after him as well."

Ron blamed his pessimism on the fact he had not been able to really venture his feelings before. And that he was tired.

**{Art of Suicide}**

Petunia Dursley was no longer a Dursley. She had taken back her maiden name, Evans, and was no longer the wife of Vernon Dursley.

She stared at the food in front of her, but she had not really eaten. Thoughts made her busy, and the added stress about her nephew was no calming.

Scrambled eggs, toast and tea. She had eaten this for breakfast since she was a child, before she got married. Why it had stopped, she did not really know. She suspected it had something to do with her unhappiness. The marriage had never really been happy. She loved Dudley and held him close to his heart. He was her little prince and the best thing that had ever come out from the marriage.

Vernon did not love Dudley. He had had plans for his son to help him with the Grunnings and get a name in the business world. And now, when Petunia had almost disgraced the name by divorce, he had disappeared without a world. He did not even care for Dudley.

Dudley was no longer the spoilt brat who cried when he did not get what he wanted. Neither was he someone who went around and bullied people anymore. He ran every morning, continued his diet and the lovely boy his mother always had thought he was. The fact that Vernon did not talk to him, ask for him or acknowledged him in any way, did not bother him at all.

Vernon Dursley was an abuser. Dudley did not want anything to do with him.

What was Dudley then? Petunia remembered how Dudley liked to play _Harry Hunting_ when he was younger. She had known it was something dangerous for Harry, and what had she done to help him? Nothing. She actually asked him to clean himself by using the hose before coming in. And she never teneded his wounds; never did anything than snapping and accuse him for lying.

She remembered every rule they had set up for Harry; Do not laugh, do not cry, do not scream, do not lie, do not ask, do not breathe to high, do not use the loo nor the shower if not permitted, do not use any of our possessions except permitted tools for chores, do not tell anyone about what happens in our house, do not get better grades than Dudley.

Do not live.

They had indirectly forbidden him to live.

She poke the eggs with her fork.

Lily must hate her now. Lily never hated her. Never. It was only Petunia whom had hated. Lily was loving and caring and now probably used all her hate towards her own sister.

Lily had probably set out Harry's whole childhood to be filled with love and care. Petunia had come to destroy all the plans. Or was it Vernon?

She could not say who it was that decided the rules. Petunia had explained the situation for Vernon; had explained what freak of a sister she had, and then...

Yes. Vernon must have demanded control. Petunia had been submissive. But still she could have done something. She could have loved her nephew.

A family. That was what she always had wanted. She had had it, yes. During her childhood, before Lily was praised and seen before herself. Jealousy had grown. The family she once had, had turned to foes. And when she had married Vernon, it was the first whom had asked her out. Everyone had wanted Lily. But not Vernon. Vernon wanted Petunia.

Of course they got together and got a child. It was a few happy days of her life. Then Lily got blown up and her child had come to her doorstep.

And she had taken it in, but never gave it a proper home.

A sigh let out her lips as she rose from her chair. She was not really hungry. She never really had been.

**{Art of Suicide}**

He hated to admit it to himself, so of course he would not do it to anyone else. Living, dead or unliving. He would never let the words out of his mouth.

He was curious.

The strange feeling felt like it was eating him from the insides, or nagging his mind until he released the parasites by asking - _asking! _- Potter questions. He had to ask Potter questions. That, because of his stupid curiosity. Imagine what the students would say about Professor Severus Snape, the scary Potions Master from the dungeouns and Hell, should they ever hear about his curiosity.

It was stupidity. He hated to be curious. It drove him mad. He could not sleep well because of it, and when he did, he dreamt about what Potter had said with that furtive lift in his right corner of his mouth.

His whole mind was, once again, only on that brat.. whom had turned out not to be a brat but an abused and neglected boy whose future had been set in stone.

His forhead rested in his hands. The long, slender fingers caught up his new cleaned hair and the palms covering his eyes. He was stressed. Oh Merlin, was he stressed! And he blamed it all on Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.

That old fool.

But a good man, indeed.

When he did not blackmail Severus with Lily.

What power she held over him. What power she held. Had she not died, and she still would have been a Potter with, perhaps, more kids than now, and she asked for a favour, Severus would do whatever it took to grant her her wish. They had been best friends. She had been there for him through heaven and hell.

And now Potter, her son he swore to protect, was a wreck. The worst thing was that it was not even half the truth.

_"Why do you hide yourself in a shell, Potter? I mean, why do you believe the man loved you?"_

"He said I was beautiful, sir."

"Surely Diggory said that?"

"Yes, he did, sir. A lot of times."

"Why would you believe someone who takes what is yours to give?"

"Because, sir, if you haven't figured it out yet, it's easier to think he loved me. That someone does."

"And why do you think it will help you in the end?"

"Oh, it won't, sir."

"Then why do you convince yourself?"

"I already said, sir, it's easier to believe there were some love in what he did to me."

"Do you know who it was?"

"Oh, no, sir. But I have heard a familiar voice, I believe. I just can't put my finger on what. And it was deformed in some way. It wasn't a voice I've heard, but familiar nonetheless."

"See, Potter. It was not as bad to talk as you thought."

"Sir, I never thought, I just did as you told me."

And Severus, loath as he was to admit it, felt as though he just _had_ to help the boy. Not for Lily's sake, not for the world's, but for the boy's sake himself.

Why did he feel like that? It was not as though he cared for the boy, was it? He loathed the boy. They loathed one another. The feeling was mutual, no? And yet-

He sipped some of his wine before he drank it all. Merlin, he was confused. If Lily held power over him, what will Potter do, if they became attached?

No. He was just going to help him, for _Lily's_ sake. Lily would have done the same, if it was his own son.

_You do not have a son, imbecile._

A frustrated sigh let out of his lips and he pushed away the glass before his elbows settled down on the table's surface.

He was Severus Snape, for the sake of Merlin! He was not going to cuddle a boy. It had never been his ambition. He was not that kind of man. Everyone knew it.

Except Lily. But she had been his best friend. The one he had let the guard down for. The one whom he just had to repay.

_Oh, what situation have you got yourself into, Severus?_

Had it been easier, if Potter was not a Potter? If Potter was- hell, even a Weasley would have been better! Why was it Potter? Everytime he saw the boy, it was a smaller version of James Potter, but a hurt Potter; a hurt boy and therefore he saw some of himself in the boy.

He had been hurt. Not like Potter, perhaps, but he had been a small, scared but defensive boy.

And now Potter came around. _Potter_. Why Potter?

He snorted. It must be something with Fate these years.

**{Art of Suicide}**

_"Mom?"_

"Yes, Duddikinns?"

"Harry's bleeding."

**[A/N}** _So that was it. I did not plan to stop it there, though, but I obviously have to update. Questions? I think the chapter will be as fair as possible. I still have a thing on HP to do. This chapter took me... what? About a month to do? Rewrite, wait for my friend to write her ideas and a few parts. The grammar should be clear, I believe. Got three spots on my English test, all three rather obvious mistakes from me, which I would never do in this story._

I still haven't recovered from DHP1. And I write another thing with another friend of mine.

**I think I will not write until this term is over. At least not publish anything. **_I have essays, test or homework in almost every subject. Gee, I will thank Merlin and his grandmother if I do not "commit" __karoushi__ or something._

Oh, and for those who did not understand; The beginning and the end of the story is a circle.

Reviews, pretty please?


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